Gemotions

He stretched, the satisfying crack of his knuckles echoing in the vast, empty loft. The concrete floor felt cool under his bare feet. Sunlight, streaming through the immense windows, illuminated dust motes dancing in the air. He poured himself a glass of water, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. The gallery was prepared for the open. He was ready.

A sharp, demanding buzz interrupted his calm. He checked the intercom. It was Mrs. Peterson, complaining about the construction next door.

“This is intolerable!” her voice crackled. “The noise! I can’t hear myself think!” He took a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Peterson,” he said evenly, his voice echoing in the large space. “I’ll speak with the contractors immediately.” He glanced at the artwork, a small smile playing on his lips. His world was just like this gallery, untouched.